An Accumulation of Immense Brevity
by Psicygni
Summary: One shots, drabbles, and short musings. Mainly Spock/Uhura focused. Mainly fluffy and cute.
1. Perseids

******These have no connection to each other (unless stated), no order, and are fragments that pop into my head and deserve to see the light of day, not be stuffed away in their current folder deep in my computer. Expect no rhyme, reason, punctuality with posting, or anything else, other than my hope that you enjoy them.**

...

She sits with her back against his chest on the dewy grass.

For her, it is a romantic evening. For him, a scientific observation. They are both aware of the discrepancy of their aims, and both amenable to, and satisfied with, the contrast.

He had intended to watch the entire meteor shower. She had planned to doze in his lap.

She points at a bright streak, awed, and his lips are soft and warm on her cheek.

When she asks, he explains orbital mechanics. When he slides his arms around her, tight, she twines her fingers through his.

Above them, the Perseids arc, blazing.


	2. Thief

Andor is stiff, icy cold.

"It should be physically impossible," Spock grumbles from his pillow, only a thin sheet covering his hips.

"Sorry." She blearily blinks in the half light. She unwraps part of her snug cocoon she's somnolently created, the frigid air rushing in. "Come here."

His nose is cold on her cheek. The thick blankets drape over them, her hands sliding up his bare back. Her lips press against his jaw, his eyelids, his forehead, sleepy and soft and slow.

"Warm yet?"

"I believe more concerted efforts are required."

She shifts closer.

"Recompense?"

His hands find her waist, slide down.

"Affirmative."

...

**I think Spock is the only character created in the history of writing that is allowed to say 'affirmative' in bed and still get laid.**


	3. What Is That Even Like

He sits at the edge of their bed.

"It is illogical for me to attempt to clarify further if you simply continue to disagree with my explanation."

She spins on her heel, pacing.

"You are so…" she starts, her hands waving. "It's like you don't even…"

He sits, his hands on his knees, infuriatingly calm.

"You are being irrational," he says.

"One of us is." Her fists press into her hips as she stills, faces him.

His lips are a thin line. "You are not attempting to understand my reasoning."

It is not a question.

"You aren't exactly trying, either."

"This is illogical," he says, stubbornly.

"Exactly."


	4. What Is That Even Like II

His jaw is still set, but she's beginning to focus along the strong line of it instead of the pulsing jump of the muscle.

"Perhaps I failed to fully discern the extent to which your argument, though not overtly congruous, was in and of itself not illogical."

She reaches out and touches his sleeve. The material of his uniform is soft under her fingers, the hard heat of his arm radiating through the thin fabric.

"I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to down play your-"

His hand is on hers, two fingers stroking the length of her palm.

"Oh," she says.

The mattress is soft under her back, his hands buried in her hair and their legs tangling as they both scramble for purchase.


	5. Halloween is Illogical

Kirk pushes Nyota, messy and stumbling, into Spock's chest. "This one's yours," he slurs, weaving away, his flower crown askew.

She is limp and slack, drawing a finger unevenly down his cheek.

"I trust Mr. Scott's party was to your liking." He holds her shoulders to steady her.

"I love you." Her brow is furrowed, her tone serious.

"I am quite aware."

He watches her straighten her witch's hat, frown, try again.

"I want…" She licks her lips, leans towards his mouth, misses. She giggles into his chin.

"You are occasionally completely incomprehensible," he says fondly. "I will bring you water."


	6. Just Do It

_Written in response to psicygni dot tumblr dot com /post/66397491117/cries-because-u-understood-every - single-gif-in-my-uhura_

...

The recruiter waits. She swallows. Says yes.

…

She pauses at his office door. Turns away. Turns back. Knocks.

They talk for hours. She makes herself leave. Eventually.

…

The exam begins. Her mind blanks. She panics, curbs it, starts writing.

…

She knows he's waiting for some sign, some permission. She wonders if he would even recognize it. She thinks he might not.

She wonders if he'll just keep waiting. She thinks he might.

She touches his jaw. He inhales sharply. She kisses him. He kisses back.

…

She can see them through the café door, smoothes her skirt, tucks her hair behind her ear.

Spock catches her eye, stands as she approaches.

"Nyota," she says, holding out her hand.

"Amanda." The other woman smiles.

She exhales.

…

"Relieve the Lieutenant."

She's dreamed about this.

Her palms are clammy. Her heart races.

"Yes sir."

She sits, steadies her hands, makes her report.

…

She imagines following him onto the turbolift.

She imagines not.

She stands, crosses the bridge, steps close to him.

…

She holds the commission letter, looks up at Kirk.

"Please."

She imagines doing it without Spock. This was never their plan.

She blinks stinging eyes, swallows, swallows again, says yes.

…

"Do it, do it." Sulu's voice is tense, strained.

She looks back through the glass doors, meets his eyes, throws the lever.

He disappears in a rush of ash and smoke.

…

She runs silently reviews verbs and pronouns, mouths past participles as Kirk hands her a phaser to tuck underneath her jacket.

Spock squeezes her hand. She squeezes back, walks out of the ship, breathes the acidic air of Qo'noS, keeps walking.

They will get home.

…

"Can you beam someone down?"

She needs him back. She needs them both back.

She doesn't think, just moves.


	7. Cuddling is Logical

Her eyes keep closing, her voice trailing off.

"Do you wish to return to your dorm?" he asks, drawing a finger down her cheek so that she opens her eyes. She is warm and soft against him and he has no wish for her to move.

"Hmmm," she murmurs. He does not find this an adequate answer but does not wish to disturb her.

She shifts closer to him, her head nestled in the curve of his shoulder and her toes trailing up his calf.

Her weight cuts off the circulation to his arm. It is logical, he has lower blood pressure than humans. He does not move. Her breathing deepens. He does not wake her.


	8. Mitigation

Mitigating his objections was the only logical course of action.

"All activity on the bridge is recorded."

"Communications officer." She pointed at herself. "Turned it off."

"We are on-"

"We're not on duty. We're at Spacedock. The Spacedock Commander has responsibility over the ship. We're on leave."

"The doors-"

"Are locked."

"The crew-"

"Gone."

She folded her arms, raised an eyebrow.

He looked at the captain's chair, looked back at her.

"I'll call you 'sir.'"

He frowned, looked at the chair again.

She stepped forward, put her hand on his chest. "Commander."

She heard the pull of a zipper in the silence.

"It is logical that we proceed with all due haste."


	9. Falling

He yearns, desperately, to be more human for her. He tries, hopelessly, to be Vulcan enough to not feel that. She asks for and expects neither. She wants him for who he is and that is overwhelming, intoxicating.

She is a cadet, he a commander. She was his student. It is less than optimal circumstances.

He looks at her and understands why the sands of Vulcan were once stained green with the blood of those who fought and died for their mates. He looks at her and understands why when humans begin to love, they call it falling.


	10. Appearance of Favoritism

He is nervous to turn down her application.

"Cadet Hohstadt is more qualified and is the logical choice for the posting."

"Right. I'll find a different research position."

She rises, steps out of his office.

That night, she wraps her arms around his waist, pushes her face into his chest.

"Thanks."

"You are not upset."

"You never make me wonder." She leans up, kisses him, pulls him close. "This could be so complicated, between us. It's not. Thank you."

"You are not mad." He seeks clarification, assurance.

"I'll work harder."

"You," he says, cannot find more words.

"Yes," she agrees. "You."


	11. The World Didn't End

Their kiss is careful, hesitant, but not uncertain.

"A traditional Terran annual observance?"

She thumbs his cheek. His forehead is warm against hers.

"Yes."

His hand comes to rest lightly on the back of her neck.

"But not necessarily solely a yearly occurrence."

"I hope not."

He kisses her this time, soft and precise.

"I find I prefer this tradition to human's predilection for pyrotechnics on this night."

She smiles. "You didn't see fireworks?"

She stands on her toes, cups his jaw, tugs him closer. Her lips part his. He amends his answer.

...

**Bonus points for correctly identifying the title reference. Happy New Year, all!**


End file.
